


Pray for the Wicked

by NekoMida



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoMida/pseuds/NekoMida
Summary: After the reversal of the Decimation, Bucky is left alone, with a heavy heart and a hefty set of baggage. It's by chance that he meets a Red Cross worker, Vanessa, who seems to be just enough for things to take a more positive turn in his life.





	1. This is Gospel

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter, please be gentle!  
> It's my first work and while I'm still fairly new to this, I'm sure I'll figure it out.
> 
> I'm taking a few liberties here and there, keeping the universe the same until I know how the dynamics change this fall due to the bunch of Marvel shows we're going to get.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_If you love me, let me go. ___

____

____

It blared over his head, reminding him of how awful he felt, remembering that he couldn’t just let go of the one person he had left in this world--Steve Rogers. And now, Steve was gone; he took the stones back and stayed with Peggy, left him in this unfamiliar world all alone. But Bucky couldn’t fix that now, because he’d just been to Steve’s hospital bed, watching the only person who really knew him slip away into the dawn’s embrace, so quiet for a man who had been so loud in his life.

He choked at the realization that he was alone, truly alone now. Stuck at the Avenger’s Tower, under the watchful eyes of the government and Sam Wilson, who had been making sure Bucky was dressed and somewhat presentable. That morning, though, he didn’t say a thing as Bucky wandered in, looking lost and worn to pieces. Heartache couldn’t describe it--Steve had even passed on the only thing he had left to give, the shield, to Sam. Bucky had nothing left of him, not a damn thing.

A week passed before the funeral happened, too long for Bucky to completely keep it together. Anything to take his mind off of it--mostly in the gym, running until he was breathless, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion so that he’d fall into a sleep that had no dreams. It was terribly unhealthy, but he made the motions of daily life, up to the point of the funeral. A black suit, tie on slightly crooked, hair pulled back into a messy bun. Bucky knew he looked a mess, and that Steve deserved better, but he couldn’t manage any better than this. The flesh hand shook under the buttons for the jacket, his lips trembling as he watched his friend leave him for the last time.

Broken sobs in the back of Sam’s truck as they drove back to the tower, Bucky trying his best and failing to stifle himself as the moment played over and over in his head--the lid shutting on the coffin, the box going down into the ground, the dirt covering it, even the smell of the flowers. Grief washed over him as they made it back in, and he retreated to his rooms, away from everyone and everything that would remind him of Steve. The little paper presented to them, with Steve’s face on it, Bucky hid in the side table. He just couldn’t bear to look at it, knowing that Steve would never talk to him again.

Here he was, nearly a hundred by society’s standards, and he was stuck in the past. At least he knew the past, because the present was terrifying.

People staring at the metal arm he sported, people recognizing him and the fear reflecting in their eyes--shame reflected in his own--blaming himself for something he never realized was happening in the first place. Not a single soul trusted him, and he barely trusted himself. Sam’s relationship with him was terse, tense, and only on a need to know basis for missions. Bucky nearly yanked the tie from his neck, listening to the silk rip with a soft curse.

“Of course it would fucking snap…” He sighed, before trying to take off the jacket, sliding it down his arms as carefully as he could and throwing it to the side of the room. This was the last thing he’d bought with Steve. ‘For when you have a nice date, Buck.’ Metal fingers ran over his face, wiping tears away with the unnatural chill of a hand that wouldn’t ever be as good as his own.

“Yeah, right, Steve. What woman wants a man so screwed up, so out of place that he rips his own damn tie in half?” He cursed as the buttons of the shirt fumbled beneath his flesh hand, and he tossed the shirt aside as well, yanking his hair down painfully. “Nobody wants someone like me, Steve.” A hefty breath left his chest, and his head buried itself in between his hands as hot tears started to flow. Anger, sadness, betrayal...there was so much raw emotion that Bucky couldn’t process, only let out in heaving sobs that left him feeling more exhausted than one of the workouts he’d been doing recently.

There was a time when he’d be chided for this sort of thing, but there were so many reminders of Steve around the room that it seemed almost suffocating. Post-it notes, stuck to the walls. A couple of cards written during the Decimation, and some afterwards, stacked neatly in a pile on the dresser. Bucky wanted to throw up seeing the reminders of Steve all around him, trying to persuade him that Steve wasn’t actually gone. It all rang in his head, made his heart ache because Steve had left him again, left him alone in the world with unfamiliar people who were unfriendly to him.

They didn’t trust him as much as he didn’t trust himself.

Stumbling to the bathroom for a hot shower made him slip on the tiles, catching himself on the sink, taking a good long look into the mirror. Thick beard growing in, hair a stringy mess, face flushed and stained with tears...he hated it. He wanted to smash the face there, to tell himself that this isn’t what Steve would have wanted. His heart ached, throbbed under his skin, telling him how wrong he was to not feel this way. There were so many things that came into conflict within his mind that Bucky’s metal hand connected with the mirror, silencing the words that had been forming into dozens of silver pieces.

When Sam heard the shatter, he’d broken into the room, convinced that Bucky had hurt himself, but he found the other man laying in the floor in disbelief, curled into a ball as the sobs racked his body. Mirror shards were everywhere, and a few had cut up Bucky’s flesh arm and face, little droplets of blood staining the rug. Stepping around the glass, Sam helped the other man into the shower, before cleaning up the mess he’d left behind. There was no consoling Bucky, but Sam did his best, helping the other man with as few barbs as possible; he couldn’t possibly understand how Bucky felt, but he could empathize with the other man.

A hot shower did wonders for the tears and the aches that Bucky felt, and he sighed deeply as he got out of the shower, the floor cleaned up and the rug missing. At least Sam had been kind enough to take it. Even the mirror had been cleaned up, though he didn’t know where the rest of it had gone. Everything was just exhausting, a constant reminder of the pain he felt at the loss of his best friend. Grief came in waves, to the point where he just fell into bed, still wet and morose. It led to a long night of nightmares, of yelling and waking up, hand in his hair, and realizing that nobody could comfort him.

Several weeks passed, all awash in grief, before Sam decided it was time to take him out of the place that was giving him so many reminders of the past. Casual clothes, incognito, with the shield tucked away in the ridiculous Volkswagen that Steve had used to hide them. Honestly, he should have just taken the truck, but it had slipped his mind, and Bucky was sullen in the back, his cheeks stained red with memories of Steve and the stupid Volkswagen he was riding in.

“Look, uh...we’re going out to this place that Pepper suggested. Said it gives this nice vibe and makes a mean drink. Tony took her there a few times, and she said it’s near your old neighborhood, maybe someplace you knew back in the day. Plus, the music’s up your alley…”

“Sam, just stop.” A heavy sigh came from the back of the car, and Bucky leaned against the window. “I only agreed to this so you and Happy would stop pestering me about going out.” City lights passed them, and one of the parks nearby had lit up with streetlights. Parking anywhere was nigh impossible, and he grumbled about it. They had to be in Brooklyn, didn’t they, because nowhere else would the buildings give off such a familiar vibe to him.

Even if his memories were still hazy and all he had was a museum, a journal, and the equivalent of a picture book to go on.


	2. Postmodern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where does one go to ease the passing of a loved one? Someplace familiar, and a place that exists outside of time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secondary chapter here! If anyone's interested, there is a playlist on Spotify I use for inspiration. A lot of it is Postmodern Jukebox; Vanessa's voice is closest to Haley Reinhart's if you'd like some audible descriptions.

“Hey, looks like we’re here. This place looks pretty sketchy, is it downstairs?” Sam scoped it out, looking at the painted sign on the building that looked more like classy graffiti than directions. Bucky grumbled, nodding to the cast iron gate to the side. 

“Probably in the basement. Tend to be a lot of Prohibition-era places in Brooklyn.” He didn’t know how he remembered that, and took the steps down to an unassuming doorway, complete with a light at the top. His vibranium hand turned the knob, shoving it into his pocket. Looking to Sam, he tilted his head towards the door. “You comin’, then? This is your idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartass.” Sam’s mouth wrinkled at the corner, raising an eyebrow as he followed Bucky down the stairs and into a small hallway, with dim lights at the end. What awaited them at the end of the hall was a rather spacious club, with red curtains and black leather lounge seating everywhere. Hardwood floors shone in the dim lighting, and an appetizing smell wafted in the air; some sort of food was being made in the back.

A soft sound of piano filtered through the speakers nearby, but there was a stage for performances, hidden by the velvet curtains. Definitely upscale, but to Sam’s surprise, the drinks were cheap enough, if the board above the bar was any indication. Turning to Bucky, he gave the other man a small nudge, choosing a seat near the middle section, where one could see the entire room, but also be able to enjoy even the fine details. Hell, even the waitstaff was classy, dressed in all-black uniforms. Pepper had been right, this was a good spot.

“See, I told you this would be a good spot to come tonight. You haven’t been out in days,” Sam started, before Bucky held up a hand, eyes looking to the bar. 

“I don't want to talk about it Sam. I just want to drown myself in alcohol and get on with whatever this is.” Bucky’s eyes closed, and he shirked off the jacket he wore, the red henley shirt underneath double-layered with a black tee. If he was about to be here for a few hours, then he’d damn well better be comfortable, if but to tolerate Sam’s nonsense about dragging him out of the tower. He just wanted to be alone, to grieve, to curl up and die.

With an irritated frown, Sam nodded towards the board. “What’s your poison, then, asshole?”

“Whiskey. Double-shot. On the rocks.” Something he used to drink with Steve, when they were deployed, at the USO and at the bars at home. Maybe he should have ordered scotch, if Sam was paying; that would teach him to pull him out of his misery before he was damn well ready to go.

“Gotcha. Don’t run off, now. I’ve got the car keys.”

“Like that would stop me.”

“It might not, but Pepper’s the one paying tonight. She insisted that you get out, have a good memory or two rather than wallowing.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with that logic, although he could sympathize with the woman, having lost her husband during the massive fight. He’d attended the funeral, and the aftermath of it all, with Pepper and Morgan both watching as the ashes scattered among the waters near Stark’s cabin. Sam got up to get their drinks, and he was left alone, taking in the scenery with heartache. Steve would have done this, maybe, gone out of his way to take care of him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so short with Sam...he was trying to help. Even if he sucked at it.

“Don’t you look like a tall drink of water?” A voice sounded next to him, whiskey smooth and feminine.

“Look, I’m just not…” Bucky turned, intending to tell the woman to bugger off, when his voice caught in his throat. The woman next to him looked dead on like she was out of his and Steve’s time, with her coal-black hair piled into victory rolls and curls, porcelain skin with ruby red lips, and a pair of forest-green eyes that he could have gotten lost in, if he wasn’t in such a foul mood. 

“Not in the mood? Someone drag you here?” Her lips turned up into a smile, causing wrinkles to appear around her eyes, and a dimple on either side of her cheek. “I’m sure that you’ll enjoy yourself, if you give it a chance.” Bucky felt his eyes fall to the table as he let out a sigh. He really should try to enjoy himself, but there was just this feeling that he couldn’t shake. Even if this woman had stepped out of a page in the old magazines that he’d collected to remind him of a time before this mess, she couldn’t fix his problems.

“I’m sorry. I just...it’s been a while since I’ve been out, and not had to look over my shoulder.” Steely blue eyes seemed to soften at the sudden touch of her hand on his shoulder. Gentle, but firm, and a resolve that almost matched Sam’s burned in her eyes as she gave him a few pats. 

“Look, honey, I won’t say things will fix themselves overnight, ‘cause they won’t. Time heals most things, but sometimes it’s good to have a friend lookin’ out for you. Keep your chin up, and let me ease some of your troubles tonight.” Bucky let the side of his mouth pull into a bit of a grimace, before he turned his head to the side.

“No offense, ma’am, but I don’t think there’s much you can do for that.” This earned him a laugh, and she turned to the side, the edge of her dress swaying and catching his attention in the light.

“We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.” A final pat, and she walked away, Bucky’s head turning to watch her. He hadn’t noticed the dress--a vintage number, something with a flowing skirt that had a neckline that dipped low enough to make his cheeks flush slightly. She really did look like she’d stepped out of one of his magazines, one of the beauties from the forties straight from the pages of a fashion ad. 

“Make a friend, Buck?” Sam had returned, causing Bucky’s head to snap back around with a slightly embarrassed look, shaking his head before taking the glass of whiskey from Sam’s hand.

“No, I don’t know who she is. She just approached me.” He took a sip of the whiskey, thanking the fact that the taste whiskey hadn’t changed since the forties. A smooth, slow burn down his throat, as the lights began to dim, and patrons began to take their seats. “What’s going on, Sam?” Bucky narrowed his eyes as the other man gave a shrug.

“Dunno. Pepper just said you’d like the show.” Sam held up his mug of beer, listening as the piano faded away, the speakers quieting.

“Show?” His thoughts were interrupted as the red velvet curtains opened up to reveal the stage behind them, the dim lights illuminated on the stage as a spotlight turned on to the middle spot. There stood his mystery woman, surrounded by a band, her hands wrapped around a mic that looked like it came from his time. Her bright red dress wasn’t the only thing that caught his eye--there were tattoos all over her right arm, a sleeve of vintage flowers and birds. Stars disappeared under the sleeve of her dress, coming to her collarbone.

And then she opened those pretty lips, to sing a song he hadn’t heard in years, accompanied by the band softly playing in the background. In those moments, he felt like it was an age before this mess happened, like he was at one of the USO dance halls again, enjoying his time there before he was shipped out. Sam sipped his beer, watching with Bucky as the songstress sang them to another time and place. Some of the songs were more modern, and Sam recognized the lyrics, impressed that they’d be able to adapt them to such a different style; Bucky didn’t care, captivated by the woman on the stage and feeling nostalgic.

When she finished her set, breath setting into her chest, the curtains closed to a hushed audience who broke out into applause. Bucky had long since finished his whiskey, deciding to put in an order for food with Sam. If this was the show, then he’d stay. It’d been a long time since his troubles had been carried away into the night.

“What do you want?” Sam’s brow raised as he looked over the menu, grunting at the choices they had.

“Get me the jalapeno poppers and the reuben sliders. Extra fries.” Bucky eyed Sam, before getting up to go to the bar. “Got that, Barnes?”

“Yeah, yeah. Get over yourself, birdbrain.” A barb back, now that he was feeling a bit better, and Bucky made his way to the bar to order their food, as well as another double shot of whiskey. It was that smooth voice that sounded from the side after he ordered that made his head turn.


	3. Witchcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little small talk goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the kudos and the comments, and the readers!
> 
> Some notes:  
> -Devils on Horseback--brandy-soaked dates stuffed with cheese (usually blue cheese or stinkier), wrapped in thick-cut bacon and baked until the bacon is crispy. Sweet, salty, deliciousness!   
> -There's a pattern to how I choose my chapter titles! It'll make sense eventually. If you already get it, then perfect!

“Well, now, that looks like a healthy appetite. I recommend the Devils on Horseback.” Those long lashes caught his eye, and he brought up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “That is, if you aren’t watching your diet, sarge.”

“What are those...wait, what?” She smiled at him, cocking an eyebrow at his perplexed expression. “Add Devils on Horseback to that, if you wouldn’t mind. Now,” he started, looking her over as she hopped up on the seat next to him, arms leaning on the bar, “Why’d you call me sarge?”

“It’s easy to recognize that walk. You’re military, or you were military. Hard to miss that strut, the way you walk like you own the room.” Her hand tapped the bar, and the bartender nodded, pouring her a glass of whiskey. Bucky could only gape at this woman, who seemed to be a mind reader--maybe she knew Wanda before things went on? His stare must have alerted her, and she waved her hand in the air. “If you’re thinking I’m a mind reader, hon, I’m not. I just have two brothers in the Army, so it’s a bit easier to recognize someone in plain clothes.”

“Ah, I see.” It came out a bit nervous, and he bit his lip, wondering what else he could do tonight besides make an ass of himself. “Yeah, I was military, once upon a time. Seems like it’s been almost a hundred years since then.”

“I can get behind that. It’s not for everyone, and I don’t blame those who get out for why they do.” Ruby lips pressed to the glass of whiskey in her hand, sipping slowly, before setting it back to the bar. “You seem a little less tense now, sarge. I hope you’ll stay for the entire show, enjoy the food and the drinks. Maddy should be bringing your food out to you before the show starts back up.”

Bucky felt his shoulders relax a bit, the conversation a bit easing to his mind. “You have such a lovely voice, it takes me back to when things were different, and I didn’t have as much of a care in the world as I do now.” To a time, really, and not a place, if he had to think about it. “I think my friend would object to not having his food, so I don’t plan on leaving early. And...I was kind of hoping to hear you sing some more.” His eyes downcast to the bar, to the glass of whiskey in front of him, another mug of beer for Sam also sliding down the wooden bar top.

“Aren’t you sweet? A gal could live for those kind of compliments.” Her cheeks flushed, lashes batting just enough to draw attention as her lips drew to a smile. “Of course I’ll sing again. Until the bar closes, at least. And maybe I’ll get to see you again, sarge.”

“...Bucky.”

“Hmm?” Her brow raised, questioning the quiet way he said his name, almost teasing him.

“You can call me Bucky.” This earned him a giggle, and she nodded in response. 

“Bucky it is. I’m Vanessa.” Her right hand stuck out, and he withdrew the metal hand from his pocket, feeling her hand slide into it without a second thought, and giving a firm shake. He almost flinched at the ease of the entire conversation, and she seemed to be more insightful than he gave her credit for.

“I work for the Red Cross. Clerical, mostly, temporarily retired from fieldwork. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot worse than a metal arm.” Vanessa nodded, taking a sip of her whiskey, before standing up to smooth wrinkles from her dress. Lipstick stained the glass, and her lips curled to a wry smile, eyes crinkling with joy. “I’ve got to head back to the stage. I hope you enjoy the rest of the show, we do dances near closing time for the older folks. And sometimes, the younger folks too.” A wink, before she tilted the glass back to finish the shots, leaving Bucky behind with a small wave. “See you around, then, Bucky.”


	4. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking is good for the soul, as is music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't gotten much time to write recently, but I'm so appreciative for the bookmark and the readers, and the kudos! I should have another chapter up fairly soon, at least within the next couple of weeks.

He watched her leave, noting the slight sway of the edge of her dress as she walked. It was mesmerizing, the way she sounded and looked. Even the tattoos that curled around her arm were something different, almost too good to be true. The whiskey had to be damn good to do that to him, although being a super soldier meant that alcohol did little for Bucky anymore other than a taste of what used to be. Sam was staring at him from across the room, gesturing for him to hurry up with his beer.

Approaching the table, he slid the beer to Sam, taking his glass of whiskey with another sip as Sam eyed him suspiciously. This led to an aggravated hum from Bucky, who hadn’t expected to be enjoying himself as much as he was. It brought back memories of when he would do this with Steve--sitting in the waiting area of the USO, taking drinks and dames to dance the night away with. His glass dropped with a clink to the table, the whiskey sloshing about as grief swept over him again. What was he doing here, in a place that should have reminded him of Steve Rogers, of a time he couldn’t get back? And attempting to talk to the lady performing, that was a mistake as well. 

“Stop thinking about it.” Sam’s voice sounded over his mug of beer, eyes closing appreciatively.

“What the hell are you talking about?” It came as a growl, as Bucky’s human hand gripped the glass in front of him.

“We both know Steve would tell you that you’re a miserable shit right now and you should be enjoying yourself.”

“Fuck off, Sam.” Bucky slammed the whiskey back, wishing for all the world that it would just get him drunk and he’d have an excuse to leave.

“I mean it. And I’m sure he’d be pushing you to go talk to that singer, he used to tell us how much of a terrible flirt you were back in the day.” Sam let his eyes wander to Bucky’s, and scoffed as the other man dropped his head.

“Yeah, well, nobody wants a broken man. And I doubt she’s really that interested in me, we’re new faces and I look like a miserable shit. She’s Red Cross, and they love fixing broken people like me. I’m not interested in that sort of thing right now.”

“Why don’t you take the chance then? You could use a friend other than me, and I’m sure she’s prettier to look at.” Sam grinned, challenging the other man.

Bucky couldn’t retort to that, as the curtains opened up to reveal Vanessa again, the red dress clinging to her curves like a dream as she began to sing again, this time mournful ballads and songs that he would have slow-danced to back in the day. It made him melancholic, but it wasn’t sadness--more of a bittersweet reminder that he was a man out of time, weary and lonely. He stared as she sang, taking in the lilt of her vocals, the way she seemed to dance along as she sang.

It was in that moment that her eyes met his, softening in the spotlight as something a bit more energetic was played by the band. And the way she swayed, it seemed as if her hand was reaching towards him as she sang. 

“Sure. Not interested my ass.” Sam snorted as the server came by with another round of drinks for them, their food on her tray. “Hey, food’s here. What the hell is that?”

“Devils on Horseback. She suggested them.” Bucky tilted his head towards the stage, taking one of the bite-sized snacks and popping it into his mouth. “It’s not bad. Not what I’d expect for bar food though.”

“If you say so. I’m trying one, and then that’s it.” Sam took one of the dates, eyeing it suspiciously, before taking a bite and narrowing his eyes.

“What?”

“It’s not...horrible. I might take a few more.” Sam washed it down with a swig of beer, giving a slight burp from the carbonation. 

“Keep your paws to yourself and out of my food, Sam.” Bucky continued to eat, glancing back at the stage between bites. Vanessa was still singing, but there was another singer off to the edge of the stage, coming up to join her for a duet, their voices harmonizing pleasantly. He was lost for the moment, wishing that Steve could see this. He’d have enjoyed it.

It was another two hours of being at the club before Bucky looked at his phone, seeing if anyone had called him. They hadn’t, but the time read nearly midnight. Had they really been here that long? His attention turned to Sam, who was taking in water, having already given his keys to Bucky on his fourth beer.

“It’s nearly midnight Sam. We should get going, get some sleep.”

“Nah. We’re going to stay until you at least talk to that singer again.”

“It’s not happening, Sam. We’re out here for a night, and you’re trying to set me up on a date. I’m not ready for that.”

“Sure, sure. But you could use a friend besides me. You don’t talk to anyone else unless they push you, and you’re always snappy. First time I’ve seen you be polite to a stranger in ages, Buck.”

At that moment, a chime came over the speakers as the singer on stage was finishing up--Vanessa had taken a break about fifteen minutes prior, and Bucky had yet to see her. 

“Folks, that’s our signal to end for the night. We’re going to turn on the oldies and clear out the floor for a few dances before closing. We know how much you love it!” The singer grinned, waving slightly as the curtains closed around him, and the oldies started, with classic Sinatra starting to play in the background.


End file.
